Darkening of the Pure
by StellaClara
Summary: Sleep was elusive to Oliver, thanks to dark visions plaguing his mind. He barely has the energy to function day-to-day, but when an otherworldly threat attacks too close to home, all he can do is try and survive, even when the biggest foe might be within himself. [Currently Undergoing Rewrites]
1. Prologue

He had been losing focus a lot lately. Not that he had meant to, but not getting a full night's rest for over a week tends to have its drawbacks. He did not even feel that tired, which was surprising, considering how often he was awoken by nightmares in the middle of the night. When he was awake though, his brain would constantly drift and bring those dreams back to the forefront of his mind.

Well, they were not exactly dreams, truth be told. Calling them dreams would imply that they were not real, but they definitely _felt_ real. He could feel his guilt and depression weighing him down, crushing him past the point of having any hope of moving from his hunched position. Staring at his shaking hands in his dreamscape was as real to him as anything that had happened while he was conscious. He knew it was not a memory either, although the feeling of guilt was not foreign to him. The room was not familiar to him though, and the body he was seeing through felt off, in a way he could not explain. He struggled to understand how that was even possible though; they had to have happened, but how could he see a memory that he knew for certain did not belong to him?

His recurring moments of distraction were brought to his attention by a hand resting against his, snapping him out of the memory of what he had seen last. Visuals of a dark, closed off room were replaced by the sight of a friend sitting across the table with a look of concern on her face.

"Oliver?" Myrtle's voice cleared what felt like cotton in his ears.

"Sorry," Oliver said, shaking his head in an attempt to rid it of the few remaining cobwebs. "I… wasn't paying attention. What did you say?"

He was expecting her to look frustrated over being ignored, not for her look of concern to increase. "You're still not sleeping well, are you?"

He took his hand away from her and joined it with the other hand clenched around the warm mug in front of him. Mind being as foggy as it was, he had completely forgotten that he had made hot chocolate for them after escaping the cold outside. It had been snowing for the past few hours, as it often did during Motorville winters, and they had to march through the growing snow piles to get home from school. The drinks were more for warming up their numb hands than anything, but it looked like he actually managed to make a decent mug of hot chocolate for once. He took a sip from his in an attempt to evade the prying question and grimaced, mentally correcting his assumption. Apparently he still left a lot to be desired when it came to his culinary skills.

The brief silence was broken by Myrtle's sigh, shifting her hand back to her side of the table. "Are you _sure_ you'll be fine without me for a few days?" she asked. Right, she had mentioned earlier how she would be gone for an extended weekend because of her father's work. He was going to one of the nearby cities for business, and Myrtle and her mother were going with him to visit family friends that they had not seen in years. Now, as she looked at Oliver in concern, it did not look like she was too pleased with the arrangement.

He tried to put on his most reassuring smile and answered, "Don't worry. I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

It seemed like he did not do that good of a job convincing her, as she still looked on with unease. "I'm just-" she cut herself off and looked down at her folded hands. She had apparently pushed her mug off to the side already, which he honestly did not blame her for. "I'm just worried about you. I know you can take care of yourself and all, but after the past few days…" As her voice trailed off, Oliver could feel his guilt rising. Watching her be anxious over him made him regret his current situation. He knew that he had no control over what he was going through, but he always hated to drag other people down while he was hurting.

He slid his mug off to the side, removing the, albeit small, barrier between them. "I'll be able to take care of myself for a few days, I promise," Even if he would not get that much sleep during that time, and would have to manage whatever was happening on his own-

His inner monologue must have broadcasted on his face, as her expression changed into something he had not seen in a while. Normally, both of them would awkwardly avoid their issues, too concerned about hurting the other, but at that moment, it seemed like she had given up on skirting around the problem. "What's wrong?" Myrtle asked, although her tone did not seem like he had a choice in answering.

The steel in her voice, although intimidating, did not stop him from trying to spare her from the details of the mess his mind currently was. "What do you mean?" Oliver asked, feigning innocence. "I just haven't been getting that much sleep-"

"That can't be the full story," The force in her voice made him physically flinch, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. "Oliver, I _know_ you. You aren't telling me everything," His hands became a lot more interesting than they were a few seconds ago. He tried to be brave and look at her, he really did, but the hurt that was clearly audible in her voice made it impossible to do so. All of his attempts to not drag her into what he was currently dealing with were failing in the most spectacular ways. Every time he tried to push her away, she just reached further. "Does this have to do with-" She fidgeted, finally drawing his eyes up to meet hers. Her visibly swallowing made him realize how her sentence was about to end, before she even uttered, "-with what happened two years ago?"

They tried not to bring up his almost year long stint through another world. Oliver would have gladly talked about it and tried to explain all that he had seen, but he could tell that there was still some small part of Myrtle that still did not believe him. It hurt, thinking that she did not trust him fully, but he knew that her doubt did not come from a lack of trust. Admittedly, if it were not his own experiences, he probably would not believe it either. He sighed, feeling every mask he had put up to hide his exhaustion slide off, as he could barely muster up enough energy to say, "I don't know."

He could tell that the immediate about-face in demeanor threw her. "What?" Disbelief was laced throughout her question, either from his answer itself or how he delivered it.

"I really don't know," With all of his fake energy draining at once, he could feel himself hunch in on himself. It seemed like too much energy to even sit up straight. "It's nothing like what happened to me back then, or-" Brief glimpses of saplings springing out of the earth drew him short, making him admit to her and himself, "-not exactly."

Oliver had been trying for a while to not connect his current dreams with the visions he had experienced before. He knew where those had come from, or at least thought he did. The new ones did not feel like the old ones though. They did not feel like messages; they were too random to feel like anything, really.

It was almost as if she was connected to him, as Myrtle's voice sounded void of all energy when she quietly asked, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No," Oliver must have replied in the entirely wrong tone as a look of hurt flashed on her face. He back pedaled, started with, "I mean-!" then cut himself off with a sigh. That was one thing he was realizing that he was far too good at: accidentally hurting people he cared about. With a voice significantly smaller than it was moments before, he said, "You've already done enough by listening for this long."

He could not look her in the eyes, he did not feel like he deserved to, yet she brought his gaze back up to her by grabbing his hand again. Once she knew she had his attention, she smiled, one that was a lot more comforting than his fake one was, and said, "You could've actually explained what's going on though, instead of just dodging around my questions."

The light tone that Myrtle had spoken in was a relief compared to the seriousness that had begun to occupy their conversation. Even so, he still felt guilty over not being able to reassure her of her worries. "I'm sorry. I barely know what's going on myself…" His attempt at an apology trailed off, as he felt like he had no other reasons to justify his deceit.

Before he could mentally close himself off again, he felt her squeeze his hand in an attempt at comfort. Dragging his eyes back up to meet hers - Oliver had not even noticed averting them until that point - he was met with a look of complete understanding. Her uttering, "It's okay," in the most reassuring voice he had ever heard was what caused an honest smile to grace his features. For the first time in a long time he did not feel like he had to make up excuses or hide his emotions. He could just be with her, not particularly doing anything, and relax.

Both had lapsed into a comfortable silence, content with sitting with each other as some odd mixture of company and support. Oliver was the first to clue into the fact that at least he had completely lost track of time while they were talking. He furrowed his brow, and begun to ask, "Weren't you supposed to be home-" when he was cut off by Myrtle springing out of her chair. Apparently she had realized the problem right as he did.

He scrambled out of his seat to attempt at following the flurry of activity that was Myrtle dashing for her coat, only for him to sprint back to the table for her discarded gloves. Frantic words were spilling out of her mouth, how she was supposed to be home an hour ago, how she was going to be late for work, and they were only stopped by him handing the knitted garments to her. She smiled as a quick show of thanks before throwing on her coat and moving towards the door. As she opened the door and was met by the cold she paused. Those brief moments of hectic activity were a welcome relief to the awkward tiptoeing around each other that had been the majority of their interactions the last few days, but her sudden stop seemed to remind Oliver that they had just begun to rectify the situation. She turned to face him, concern slightly returning to her features, and said over the wind, "Promise you'll be okay?"

He smiled again. Although it still showed how tired he was, he could tell that it comforted her a bit, knowing that he could muster up the energy to do at least that. "I promise," The look of relief on her face made his last shreds of guilt disappear. She seemed to hesitate at the door, as if she wanted to say, or do, something else, but settled on a wave and shut the door behind her.

Standing in the hallway as the last chills brought in from the snow left the entrance, Oliver marveled in the fact that he actually felt relaxed. He could fix things, or at least he could mend the strain between him and Myrtle. He had no idea how to help himself with the rest of the problems that he was facing, but for once that pressure did not seem to be crushing him where he stood. With a smile of contentment still on his face, he headed back to the kitchen to grab their mugs. Maybe if he was lucky, everything else would get better over time.

* * *

 **And it begins! This fic has been in the works for a very long time, and I hope you all will enjoy reading it as much as I am writing it!** **This series is going to tackle a lot of the concepts and questions I had left after I beat the game, and how I personally see these characters' stories continuing.**


	2. Chapter 1

_The pitch black void of night surrounded them, yet it was easily pierced by the flashing lights below. Those illuminations caused by magic seared the air around them, flying straight and true towards their target, until they exploded in a cacophony of colors and sound, claiming another life._

 _It was chaos, and all they wanted to do was watch and laugh._

 _It fascinated them, how it appeared that the stars in the heavens had left their perch to rest on the ground in a twinkling hellscape. What intrigued them even more was how easily extinguished they were once they were on the same plane as mere mortals._

 _A rolling, nightmarish darkness was approaching the center of the battle. Their view from up above protected them from it, but they knew that it was unneeded. After all, they were the ones controlling it. As it got closer and closer to the lights below, it snuffed out every single one in its path, replacing them with a cry of despair, then nothing. The sound, almost as if a warning, was unheeded by the others though. The sound of death was all around them, so why would they pay attention to more of it?_

 _They should have listened to their brethren; they would have saved themselves from so much suffering. Yet did that not perfectly describe the current torture they had been putting their entire world through for decades now? That was why they were dissatisfied with what used to be their main form of entertainment. They wanted to watch their growing affliction drive them mad, as a form of punishment for all that they had gone through under them. But with how much other strife and turmoil that they had been through, they almost seemed unaffected by their powers._

 _Maybe it was time to find a new plaything. A new time, or even world, to unleash their full potential onto, just to watch them crumble around their feet. One long, slender finger traced the air in front of them, creating a glowing yellow rune for their own use. Soon an entirely new civilization would suffer from their nightmares._

 _They liked the sound of that._

 _Nightmares._

The sudden shrill ring of the dismissal bell ripped Oliver back into the land of consciousness, jolting him so badly that he almost fell out of his seat. He saw more than felt his white-knuckle grip on the desk, trying to steady his racing heartbeat as the rest of his class left the room. What he just experienced was not normal. He had not fallen asleep in class, but his exhaustion had made it harder and harder to focus on what his teacher was saying until he began to see… that. The visions had never happened while he was conscious, and the fact that they had suddenly changed their behavior worried him. Either he was a lot more tired than he thought he was, which was possible, or he did not understand them as well as he thought he did.

The realization that he had just sat in his school desk chair for minutes after class had ended, mildly panicking, alerted him to the fact that his teacher was probably staring at him. Without even looking up at Mrs. Dawson's desk to see if he was right, he quickly shoved all of his work into his backpack - which was no longer his enchanted one, since he had learned the hard way that it made losing papers far too easy - and bolted for the door. He tried to ignore the tremor in his hands as he used the door knob and all but fled from the premises.

There was something else that was unsettling about what he had seen, and it took him a decent amount of reflection to notice. It had felt personal. All of the other times he had known distantly that he was not looking through his own eyes, since he did not remember any of the events happening, but that time he truly felt like an outsider connected with whoever that was. He still felt their emotions, though he wished with every fiber of his being that he had not. Feeling connected to that much hatred, that much power, that much _darkness_ , did nothing but make him feel sick to his stomach. What made it worse was that it almost felt familiar.

The blast of chill wind that met him as he opened the main doors to the school cut right through him. The snow had stopped falling Sunday night, but the bitter cold had remained. He nestled further into his coat in a futile attempt to stay warm and set a brisk pace home, mingling with the few people who had been held up in their classrooms like him. Maybe he could get home before the temperatures plunged further and made it feel reminiscent of his trek around Yule.

A sharp cry of, " _Oliver!_ " dashed all hopes of a short exposure to the outside, but the panic laced in the tone halted him immediately. He turned around and was met by a familiar form sprinting towards him like his life depended on it.

"Denny?" Oliver asked, concern evident in his voice. He had never seen him looking so on edge before, which set off a multitude of alarms in his head.

"My-" Denny gasped out, clearly winded. Being the track star of the school, he should not have been exhausted in the slightest by such a short run, but his shaken expression showed that his hyperventilating was caused more by panic than exertion. "My physics teacher had the radio on. We heard- We heard everything. It's- They think-"

His stuttered ramble punctuated by his own panic-induced gasps was stopped by Oliver's look of confusion. "Denny, what are you talking about? You're not making any sense."

Oliver watched his frazzled look shift to sheer horror, as Denny finally focused on him. "You haven't heard." It was not a question, but Oliver answered anyways with a shake of the head. "Okay, we need to get to my house. Now. It's closer than yours, and my mom might have gotten ahold of them already. Come on."

The quick tone change floored him, yet he did not have that much time to stand in confusion as Denny motioned for him to follow, then set a near-running pace towards his home. A small part of Oliver's mind was thankful that he was moving slowly - well, slowly for Denny - but most of his thoughts were focused on trying to figure out what had so obviously rattled his friend.

It did not take long for the two to make it to Denny's house, seeing that he lived minutes from their high school, yet in the short distance they travelled, Oliver had already noticed that something was off. Even in the winter, Motorville was always active. People were always moving, running errands, taking care of their houses, even just standing on the corners talking with their neighbors. Nothing like that was happening though. For the first time in the years that he had lived there, it was absolutely still.

Denny's trembling hands battled briefly with his house keys and front door, getting the door open fairly quickly. Almost the moment it was swung open he was swept inside by a doting mother, frantically trying to figure out if he was alright. He tried to bat off her hands, both with his own arms and with words of reassurance. Oliver followed through the entryway awkwardly, unsure if she had even noticed that he was there, and shut the door behind him.

The click of the latch seemed to break the single-minded attention she was giving to her son as she quickly looked over at Oliver. He attempted a smile, though he knew that his face broadcasted the fact that he was just as confused about being there as she was. "Hi Mrs. Pagano," His greeting was stiff and somewhat jarring to the silence that had just replaced the distressed words before it.

"Oh! Oliver dear, I didn't-" Mrs. Pagano stopped herself in the middle of her shaky sentence, ran fingers through hair that looked like it had been disturbed several times that day, and composed herself. "Is your uncle home yet?"

He froze, stuttering around the question. Oliver hated the fact that he had been lying to essentially everyone in Motorville over his living conditions, that he had ended up fabricating a legal guardian through magic and deceit, but knew that he had to keep up pretenses. After a minor amount of floundering that he hoped went unnoticed, he was able to force out, "No ma'am, I think he's still at his office."

Mrs. Pagano sighed. "It looks like that might be the best decision right now. Everyone's on the roads trying to get home. It's a mess out there," At that she turned to Denny. "I called your father. He's on his way home, but who knows how long that will take with traffic being this bad."

Denny seemed to get a hopeful look on his face after that. "Were you able to phone the Cartwrights?" The mention of Myrtle's family made Oliver's attention snap towards him.

"No," Denny's shoulders sank as she answered, while Oliver could feel his apprehensiveness skyrocket. Myrtle had mentioned that her folks always left contact information with the Paganos in case of emergencies. The fact that their system was suddenly not working was worrying. "There isn't even a busy signal. I would have assumed that the problem would be that everyone would be making calls to people in the area, but you can't reach the city at all-"

"Ma'am," Oliver interjected, shrinking somewhat as the other two looked his way. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what's happened?"

Oliver did not expect Mrs. Pagano's eyes to become as wide as saucers, nor for her to immediately direct her dumbfounded expression at her son. "Didn't your teachers mention it?"

Denny shook his head. "My teacher did, but I don't know if anyone else knew about it."

Mrs. Pagano straightened, finger-comb putting her hair further into a disarray. She opened her mouth as if to start answering the myriad of questions Oliver had, but was cut off by the incessant ringing of a telephone further in the over her words briefly, she excused herself with, "That might be them. Denny-" he started at the no-nonsense tone she had assumed once she addressed him. "-the news has been discussing it non-stop since it happened. They can probably fill you both in better than I can in this state."

As she retreated further into the hallway they stood in, Oliver looked at Denny for some answers to how weirdly his mom was behaving. Mrs. Pagano was one of the most composed and orderly people he knew. He could not imagine what could make her act so frantic, so unravelled.

Oliver's contemplations were cut off by a sigh next to him. "Come on," Denny said as he started to make his way towards what Oliver assumed was his living room. "I can explain what's going on in here."

He trailed after him, catching up to Denny as he turned the dials on his television like he was on autopilot. Once a news station was found, he slid his backpack off of his shoulders and collapsed onto the nearest couch, as if he could not even hold himself up anymore. Oliver turned his attention from the worrying sight of his friend, only to be met by a familiar sight on the news. "That's-" He could not even get the words out, but he _knew_ that city, though when he had been there it was bustling with activity. The images being shown were like a ghost town, completely devoid of human life.

"-Beadon, yeah." Denny finished for him. The name being said out loud made something click in Oliver's head, right before he heard, "That's where the Cartwright's went. They were supposed to be home today."

It felt like all of his rising anxiety was focusing on his throat, constricting it until he could barely breathe. He was barely able to, but Oliver managed to force out, "What happened?" The fact that the question had been thrown around a lot that day was not lost on him.

The pained expression on Denny's face did nothing to reassure him. Oliver could see him struggle to form words, but the ones he uttered stilled his heart. "Beadon was attacked a few hours ago."

Oliver wished he had chosen to sit down before asking questions. He felt his entire world _shift_ at the mere thought. It was his world, it was supposed to be safe, nothing bad was supposed to happen-

His rising panic must have come across to Denny, since he backpedaled quickly. "That's what they think at least! It could've been some sort of chemical spill, or-" He stopped himself and looked away. "What I mean is, they don't _really_ know what happened, but it's bad."

He felt the blood drain from his face. "How bad?"

Denny ran fingers through his curls - reminiscent of his mother's nervous actions, Oliver noted - and breathed deeply. "No one's dead, by some miracle, but a lot of people are hurt. There are some press on the outskirts of the city, and there are shelters set up for the people who were in there at the time, but the rest of the limits are under quarantine."

Oliver sank into the nearest chair, mirroring how Denny had assumed his own position, and sat there, staring at nothing. His mind just would not let it sink in. Something was stopping it from doing so, some _feeling_ was shouting about how he did not have the entire picture yet. His brows furrowed as he looked up and asked, "Why a chemical spill?" That reason was far too specific for his liking.

Fidgeting, Denny responded with, "I haven't seen any pictures, but they're guessing based off of what the people affected look like. They said they look like-" His eyes briefly flicked back to the television, and stopped himself. Blanching, he gestured to the screen and continued with, "-like _that."_

He dragged his eyes to the screen, but was disoriented by what he was met by. Oliver could clearly hear how the news anchor was describing how they must have been seeing the victims. Some information matched up, mostly over how none of them were conscious, apparently being knocked out by whatever had done that to them. The rest of the information though, none of that was right. They went on about how they were disfigured, scarred beyond recognition, clearly by some chemical agent, but that was so _wrong._

Oliver saw it differently. He saw patches of skin colored a violet so dark it was almost black. He saw mouths exhaling and releasing a pitch black, rolling mist from their lungs. He saw eyelids closed, yet opening slightly to let a bright green glow escape from within. It terrified him, mostly because the only times he had ever seen his world differently from anyone else inhabiting it was when magic was involved, and the idea of a magical force attacking his world was horrifying. The other reason, which was quickly growing to be the more important, was because he almost recognized their appearances. He knew what had deep violet coloring, what had glowing green eyes, what moved as if it was made of mist bound into a physical form, draped in shadows. Oblivious to Denny looking at him in confusion, he let out a whisper of the name that he desperately hoped was wrong.

" _Nightmares_."


	3. Chapter 2

**My apologies for this chapter being a week late! Real life got in the way this time… to make it up to you though this chapter is 4000 words by itself,** _ **and**_ **the next chapter should be out on schedule next week!**

 **Also I had a couple messages asking about some of the things that happened last chapter, especially with the Nightmares and such. I hope this update either covers or answers all of them.**

 **Well I won't keep you, I hope you enjoy!**

Oliver flew through his front door, slamming it closed behind him and locking it immediately. He rested his back against it, attempting to catch his breath. The only sounds reaching his ears were his own frantic breathing and the pounding of his own heartbeat reverberating in his head. The silence had unsettled him earlier, but in his current state it helped fuel his rising terror levels. It was too still, too eerie, too _alien_ for any place in his world to be so lifeless.

Knowing that standing around panicking would do nothing for anyone, he snapped out of his encroaching panic and dashed for the stairs. He took two at a time, not able to get to his room fast enough for his liking. As he bolted through the open doorway he threw his backpack from its perch on his shoulder, not bothering to watch it slide into some unknown corner of the room. His entire attention was focused on his dresser, throwing the doors open in a frantic search for something he knew had been in the same place for over a year.

Sitting in a crumpled pile of fabric, hidden between the folds of jackets and shirts, was an object he had almost refused to disturb. It was as if he opened it, or moved any part of it, the connection it had to everything he had done two years prior would vanish in an instant. After everything that had come to his attention in less than an hour, Oliver did not even hesitate before grabbing his bottomless bag and bringing it hurriedly over to his desk.

He slammed it down onto his desk without any caution for the contents inside - after all, if it could protect glass vials from shattering under the force of a tank ramming into him, then he would not even be able to scratch them - and began rifling through the bag in search of one specific item. Passing over expected items, such as a handful of sprite dews and curse-be-gones, and the more unanticipated - he had completely forgotten that Swaine had left his old revolver in his possession once he had crafted a new one, and he wondered whether or not he would want it back - he caught the glimpse of a wooden handle from the dizzying depths, and quickly snagged it before it was lost again.

Oliver balanced the wand in his hand, relishing in the comforting familiarity of the object. He ran a thumb gently over the orb at its tip, checking the instrument's source of power for any blemishes. He knew that he would not find any, but it was a habit of his to constantly check over his equipment.

The weight almost felt off to him though, after barely using it for two years and only using this specific wand for the first portion of his journey. He had given up his two strongest wands, Astra and Mornstar, before he had left the other world, since he felt that they belonged in the hands of the daughter of the original owner. That decision, which he still stood by, left him with the wand he was rewarded with after coming to the aid of King Tom.

It had suited him fine since he had returned home, since the rare spell he actually had to cast was within the wand's capabilities. He was potentially about to face a force with unknown strength however, and being unable to cast his more advanced spells without destroying his wand was not going to help his current situation in the slightest.

Thinking about what he was up against made him pause. Oliver was confused over how quickly his mind made the connection to Nightmares. The sight felt like one's heart stopping, plunging into ice water, spiders crawling up one's spine, every unpleasant and horrifying feeling the human body could feel in an instant, which was _exactly_ how he had felt facing Nightmares. But after learning so much about those beings from fighting so many, all of those people falling to Nightmares did not make sense. Nightmares did not knock people unconscious instantly, or show themselves physically, or do anythingthey seemed to be doing. Also, if they were working like they normally did, which he was beginning to doubt, that meant someone broke _each and every heart_ belonging to the victims. Someone with that much power was more petrifying than all of those Nightmares combined.

Absently clutching at his chest while thinking everything over, he was shocked to only feel one chord around his neck. He knew that he would only find one chord there - a seashell pendant hanging off of twine that he had refused to remove ever since it had been given to him - but it made him realize that he had no idea where his locket was, bringing back his panicked movements from earlier. A quick search of his bag proved fruitless, because although it was able to contain an infinite amount, it had the tendency to present whatever was being searched for fairly quickly. Failing to see one glimpse of a string dissuaded him from continuing his hunting in his bag, and after a cursory scan of his desk, he knew that he would not find it anytime soon.

It worried him to not have the capability to mend the brokenhearted with the possibility of so many suffering from it, but he knew that he did not have enough time to turn over his entire room in search of it. Oliver made a mental note to come back to grab his locket if he did need it, and moved to his still open dresser and parted his hung clothes. He unhooked the holster for his wand that was attached to his old travelling clothes hidden from view. His fingers trailed delicately over the hem of the tunic briefly, before snapping back to attention and securing his holster onto his belt. It was awkwardly placed underneath his winter coat, but he knew that he would be able to manage. His snow coat was not much different than his Yulish parka, after all.

He turned to his right, eyes falling on the last thing he needed. The circumstances were serious, his heart still beating rapidly in his chest, and yet a small smile appeared on his face as he looked at his Wizard's Companion. Working from muscle memory that he had not relied on in far too long, he extended his left hand and pointed it directly at the tome. He focused, feeling the power extend out of his fingertips, and flicked his wrist to the right. Instantly, the once open pages snapped shut. Cooling his expression, he narrowed his concentration, and without even moving his arm the book flew towards him. His outstretched hand grabbed it effortlessly out of the air, tucking it to his side in one fluid movement. He tried not to smile, he really did, but even though he learned how to levitate that particular book before he cast his first spell it still made him giddy. Oliver had regularly practiced for less than a year, and yet all of the old habits had returned to him immediately, feelings so _right_.

He sobered slightly, remembering exactly what he had to do. Without needing to find the page describing the spell, having memorized them all long ago, he traced a glowing blue rune in the air. Clearing his mind of nothing but the smell of exhaust, the sounds of heavy traffic, and the feel of blustering wind generated by skyscrapers, he closed his eyes. Oliver held his breath as he saw a flash of light through his eyelids, and felt himself disappear from the room.

* * *

The effects of Travel were not, well, pleasant. Sure it was useful to be able to appear anywhere in the world, but the feeling that the spell gave to the caster almost dissuaded Oliver from using it all together. Before he cast it for the first time, he had assumed that it would be a lot like Gateway. The premises of both spells were alike, so it was not that much of a stretch to expect them to be related in their execution, right? He learned how that was wishful thinking pretty quickly.

Travel did not feel like the caster's body was immediately teleported to the new location. Rather, it felt like they had been flung that entire distance in a millisecond while also doing a decent impression of a spinning top. It was dizzying, disorienting, and had nearly made him sick on several occasions. There might have also been a handful of times that he had landed on his face right as the spell dropped him, but any witnesses of those were sworn to secrecy, so there was no proof. Even after the countless occasions that he had used it and had been presented the chance to acclimate to its weird mode of transportation, he still stumbled when he arrived in the middle of the street in Beadon. Bones that felt like rubber fought him as he desperately tried to get his feet under himself.

Once it finally felt like his legs would not give out from under him, Oliver stopped to look around himself. It was almost as if the silence from Motorville had followed him here, yet somehow it was even _worse_. The only disturbance to the absolute stillness surrounding him was the ever present wind of the city, and yet he could not hide the shiver that ran up his spine. It all felt so wrong. Beadon was not the largest city around, but it was always active, with commuters and pedestrians alike. The fact that he was able to stand in the middle of the street and catch his bearings without being immediately run over drove the point home that everyone had been forced out, yet something was still off to him. He tried to silence that part of his mind though; there was not a soul in sight, there was no reason whatsoever for his feeling of being watched.

Setting a brisk pace through the center of the road, he tried to remember his way around the city. A few months had passed since he had been there on a field trip, but he still remembered the corner the bus had dropped them off at well enough. He had enough faith in his memory to lead him towards a well-sized plaza, only a few blocks away. After only mere moments of movement, the feeling he had been greeted with returned, but stronger. Tremors ran up his frame that resembled earthquakes. Shards of ice lodged themselves in his lungs, rendering his breathing to quick, desperate spurts. The worst of it all was that it felt like the asphalt itself had frozen around his feet, making it impossible for him to proceed even an inch.

Oliver tried pick his feet up through the uneasiness, but something stopped him. A shifting in the dark, something that he knew should have been completely imperceptible, happened just out of the corner of his eye. He whipped around, bag swinging with the motion and colliding painfully with his leg, and was met by the sight of an ordinary sidewalk, shadowed by the buildings surrounding it. The feeling of wrongness continued. He _knew_ something had moved, almost slithered, just out of his sight. His own breath was the only sound he could hear, his knuckles clenching painfully around his wand was the only sensation he could feel, and as his insides felt as if they were slowly freezing from within, it dawned on him that he was in trouble.

He knew that it was too late to react by the time the sound finally reached his ears. Time seemed to slow down, the air turned thick, as he finally mustered enough force to fight every instinct of flight his mind was hurling at him and turned around. The ice shards previously encroaching on his airways seemed to expand in that moment, freezing the entirety of his body from the inside. As wide blue eyes met beady glowing ones, Oliver finally figured out why he had jumped to the conclusion that he had.

It was a fact that Nightmares were terrifying; anyone who had ever felt one would testify to that. But it was the _feeling_ of them that was truly horrific. Their appearance was creepy, sure, especially with how they seemed to move like marionettes who had cut their own strings. At least, the ones he had seen himself looked that way, but it did not quite fit the fright that their presence seemed to project. Their section in the Wizard's Companion was a completely different story. How they were illustrated there was exactly as demonic of an appearance as their aura warranted. A grotesque face that seemed to be melting where it stood, fangs that could easily strike someone's heart, pinprick eyes that seemed to stare into souls, and an entire body made of rolling smoke that could slither and glide like a living shadow was where one could _start_ in trying to describe how they were depicted there. Oliver had always assumed that whoever had drawn that for the book had glorified the creature, taking creative license to try and show visually how they felt mentally. As he gazed at the figure mere inches from his face, he was confronted with the fact that they were not exaggerating at all. His previous Nightmares did not fit the description at all, but the one looming over him matched it _perfectly_.

The Nightmare seemed to defy how the rest of time had slowed down around them and lunged for him, closing the short distance between them in a blink of an eye. He did not have enough time to flinch before what must have been its arm clamped around the lower part of his face. Human reflexes won out as both of his own hands shot up to try and pry off what was blocking any air from reaching his body. He distantly heard the sound of a wand and book collide with the ground below him, but that did not matter to him. It felt like all of the oxygen in his lungs was being replaced by the mist shrouding his enemy, and he could do nothing about it. How could human hands pry off a being that was not even _solid_?

At that thought he desperately began clawing at his belt, searching for something that should have been attached to his holster. Logic was failing him, as old reflexes flared up in what was quickly becoming a life or death situation. He failed to realize that the familiar cage he was searching for was not there, seeing that he had not brought it back to his world with him. His hand continued to struggle to find it though, as the other began to slow in its attempts to free himself from the Nightmare's grasp. His lungs were on fire, and it felt like his entire insides were filled with the rolling cloud in front of him. Eyes beginning to lose focus, limbs feeling heavier and heavier, and his focus had narrowed to one thought being yelled over and over in his mind. He could not breathe. He could not breathe. He could not _breathe_ -

As darkness was beginning to take over his vision, a shout, no, a _command_ , sounded behind him, and suddenly there was _air_. Oliver did not even try to continue standing, falling onto his knees as his lungs attempted to expel everything that had been forced in during those crucial seconds. Curling in around himself as coughs shook his frame, clutching his chest with shaking hands that nearly tore open his coat, he failed to hear the footsteps approaching him. It was only after they stopped and silence began to come over them that his heaving stopped, and through tear-filled eyes he looked over his shoulder. He did not know what he expected to see, but it definitely was not her.

A woman in a simple, dark, floor length robe stood behind him. Her expression was neutral, not in a conceited way, or a bored way, but in a considering way, as if she was studying his every move. Short, untamed black hair framed a face that was pale underneath the dark violet marks that the victims of the Nightmares had. Both cold, narrowed eyes were trained on him, yet their contrast threw him. One was a glowing pale green, and the other was a solid red-violet that he was far too used to facing.

"Apologies for what you went through," Her voice was as cold as her gaze. "They were told not to approach you. Sadly, some of them are… excitable."

His eyebrows furrowed at her words. She made it sound like they were under control, that she could communicate with them. He tried to formulate a response to her, but his continued attempts to regain the air he had lost blocked any form of communication.

A flicker of emotion passed over her face. "So you can understand us. Good. It was unclear whether or not people of your world could understand our tongue," She continued her pacing over to his side, long skirt flowing as if it was the wind itself.

Her words were just raising more questions in his mind, but Oliver tried not to show it on his face. He still had no idea what she was capable of, or if she was a threat at all. Slowly, in an attempt to evade her attention, he lowered his arms a fraction. Both his Wizard's Companion and wand were lying where he had collapsed, having fallen at his feet earlier. If he could just reach them…

An amused chuckle from in front of him made him freeze. His eyes dashed back up to her, and his stiff frame relaxed as he noticed that she was not facing him. "Hiding your emotions from us will do you no good," She turned to face him, and her glowing eye seemed to stare a hole right through him. "You mortals are like open books. We can see everything that you are composed of."

He exhaled and forced out "Everything…?" before having to stop, feeling his lungs protest the exertion.

Lips upturned into a smirk, she began to look more like a predator, circling a downed prey. "Every memory, every thought," she continued her gaze from earlier, looking him up and down as if sizing him up, "Even the power of a person. We can see all. And you-" her wrist flicked up, and with it did his chin, forcing him to look directly at her. She crouched down, inches from his form. "-are concerning."

He swallowed, noticing that he could not even move his fingertips. His paralysis was not due to fear this time, but an actual force. He could feel her power over him, pinning him to the ground, and _that_ was where his terror was coming from.

She looked down at his hands. "I see," Before he could react both of his sought for items were secure in his grasps. He did let his confusion slip through at that action, which only caused her smile to grow. "What is the challenge of a foe that is defenseless. Although," she hesitated, eyes lingering over his heart before meeting his again. "Even without those you are obviously a threat."

Heart racing in his chest, his mind began frantically searching for something he could do. He had his wand, that was great. The strongest offensive spell he could cast was Arrow of Light, that was slightly less great. His muscles could not move an inch, that was pretty bad. She seemed to be contemplating him in a very worrying manner, that was the most concerning part and he would have liked to have a way to stop it. Honestly just knowing what she was _thinking_ would be comforting enough. The fact that she probably could tell what he was thinking at that very moment also limited how he could fight back. If he could just _move_ though-

As her eyes lit up he realized that his mind going a mile a minute was not helping him in the slightest. "You are handicapped," Oliver kicked himself mentally as she appraised his wand. "Yes, that wand does seem to be… lackluster," She seemed to surprise herself, and met his eyes yet again. "And that is not the only way you are at a disadvantage. Well then," Distance was put between them swiftly as she glided away from him. Raising a hand in the air, she sharply twisted her wrist. It was as if whatever bonds that were tied around him were broken, and Oliver had to catch himself before he collapsed to the ground again.

Using whatever small amount of energy he had regained he sprang to his feet, right hand already creating a blue rune in the air. He had one shot, one chance to hit her, and maybe slow her down enough to either take her down or make his escape-

On the final upward stroke she spun around and forced her arm outwards. His spell broke, and his arm shot back so suddenly he barely stopped himself from crying out. Shoulder protesting at the almost unnatural angle being forced upon it, he cringed and looked at her, mask over his emotions having fallen away long ago. Oliver knew that he looked absolutely petrified, and he could tell that it was only encouraging her to continue. He could do nothing to stop it though; he had one chance, and he _missed_.

He felt more than saw her eyes analyze his tremoring frame, before he heard her utter, "Yet even you bore us. You have the potential to be _so much more_ , but something is holding you back," Her rapt attention seemed to fall away, as her next words were soaked in indifference. "No matter. We know exactly what to do with problems such as you."

The arm extended to disarm him began to stroke through the air, leaving a bright red rune in its wake. The fact that she could cast spells without a wand was not what truly startled him, but the easily recognizable shape did. Oliver knew he was cornered right there, and he tried to fight, tried to flee, but she had him in her steel grasp yet again, blocking off any escape.

She seemed almost bored as she began to explain her actions. "Mortals are bound by certain rules of magic. Some are grudgingly understandable, but this-" Rune complete, she paused to hold it in front of her, delaying its cast. "-this is just a weakness. A _flaw_ ," Spitting the last word as if it was a swear, she finally began to release the spell. Its glow began to increase to a nearly blinding level, and yet he could not look away from what was approaching. "You cannot overcome this wall. You have managed a lot, we will grant you that, but even you cannot cast this spell once again," A grin appeared on her face, but it had too many teeth, it was too much of a threat, to really be considered a smile. "We hope you enjoy where you end up. It should be _entertaining_."

He knew this spell, and he knew that hers was at the apex of its. What was worse is that he knew for a certain that he could no longer do a thing about it. The damning words were being spoken, and all he could do was brace as she intoned, "Today, tomorrow, yesterday. Send him swiftly on his way."

And like that, the ground around him glowed brighter than the supernova of a rune in front of him. He barely had time to gasp before everything dropped out from beneath him, and he fell.


	4. AUTHOR'S NOTE NOT CHAPTER

**This is an author's note, not an actual chapter.**

Hey guys, it's been a while. Or, years at this point.

I don't know if anyone is still following this fic. If so welcome back. And if I'm crossing your feed for the first time, then hey! Welcome to my little corner of fanfiction. I need to tell you all some things really fast.

So, for those who don't know, DotP was meant to be the start of a trilogy of fics for NNK. My original goal was to publish it all before the sequel came out. Clearly, that didn't happen. I wanted to get started on it again, and had just been starting to get to work on it, and then _Revenant Kingdom_ happened.

Yes I've finished it and yes it owns me just as much as the first game did. However. That game actually used a _lot_ of my original plot ideas for my trilogy. Like. A confusing amount. Seriously my editor and I were laughing hysterically at some of the coincidences. So. I still want to write this! But to make it an original story, I'm going to have to go back to the drawing board for a lot of things.

This fic isn't dead. It was for a while there, thanks to school, and I'm sorry about that. But it'll be coming back. Probably in a couple months though, so hang tight. It's been so long that I plan on rewriting what is already published, upload those probably in bulk, and then we can just jump right in and actually continue this story.

Thanks, and I hope to be able to update this sooner rather than later.

StellaClara


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